


New Constellations

by oneoneandone



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneoneandone/pseuds/oneoneandone
Summary: A birthday gift, and a brand new birthday.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 8
Kudos: 146





	New Constellations

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt**   
>  _preath - this might just be the best gift ever_

Tobin looks down at her trembling hands, the tiny onesie she’d just pulled out of the giftbag. A soft white piece with snaps, proudly proclaiming _My Mamas are Ballers._ “Seriously?” she looks up to Christen, a wide, joyful grin lighting up her face. “When you took that test last week—“

Christen smiles, and covers her wife’s hands with her own, steadying them. “It was still early,” she says with a soft smile. “And those things are much less reliable than a blood test. I had a feeling, even with the negative we got, so I went in to see Jane and after a blood draw,” she moves closer, straddling Tobin’s legs to sit there, just looking at the beautiful excitement in her wife’s gentle brown eyes, “and a sonogram, I think we can say with pretty great certainty that you mastered that turkey baster on your first attempt, babe.”

Christen reaches into the bag for the second part of her wife’s birthday gift, a framed photo, black and white and just clear enough to see their whole future captured inside of it. Tobin is crying now—happy tears—as she takes it, as she looks and tries to make sense of the cloudy image.

“There,” Christen points to the small black circle, “right there.” It’s just a gathering of fluid at this point, their OBGYN had told her, the very early stage of a gestational sac forming, but that dark void in the image, the absence that indicates the evidence. And it’s enough for Christen to have fallen head over heels in love with the tiny, tiny presence of life she’s carrying.

She sees that same love blooming over her wife’s features, and leans in to kiss Tobin softly. “Good birthday present?” Chris smiles against her wife’s lips, giggling when the older woman surges up, and she finds herself on her back looking up into loving eyes.

“The best,” Tobin kisses her, a hand moving down to rest over her wife’s firm, flat belly. “The absolute best.”

— — —

“You know,” Christen breathed out slowly, sitting on her exercise ball in the middle of their living room, “we really didn’t plan this well.” She watches as her wife runs into the room, skids to a stop in her thick socks on the polished hardwood floors, and then dodges back out, returning to the room where she’d started for something she’d forgotten. It’s been going on for several minutes now, ever since she told Tobin that the low-grade contractions she’d been having since the day before were really starting to ramp up.

Of course, she’s had some time to get used to the idea that their baby will be coming sooner rather than later. When she’d finally realized what was going on, that she was in the very early stages of labor late last night, it had felt like everything that hadn’t made sense over the last few days was falling into place. But Christen hadn’t told Tobin right away, because she was pretty sure that something like this would happen. The hard chill outer mask would fall away and finally the nerves that have been building inside her wife for nine or so months now would be set free. Still, Christen supposes that the other woman is due a few panic-filled minutes of running around. But the next time Tobin comes within reach, running here or there for something they absolutely _need_ at the hospital, Christen is going to grab her arm and hold her, still, before she hurts herself.

And—there, she snags her wife by the hoodie, laughing at the almost comical way Tobin lurches to a halt. “Sorry, babe,” Tobin gives her a sheepish look, “did you say something?”

“I said we should have planned this better,” Christen says, feeling another contraction building. They’re still not close enough that she wants to head to the hospital yet, but they’re getting closer and more powerful. “The week, it’s going to be too crowded.”

Later, when Tobin retells the story, Christen will understand why her wife is looking at her like she’d just grown a second head. But right now? Right now it’s not funny at all. “Baby, you feeling okay?” Tobin crouches down before her, looking into her eyes like she’s checking for some kind of damage. “Should I call an ambulance? Who’s the president?”

But Christen just stares at her for a moment before shaking her head. “What? No, the week, Tobin,” she says again, firmer this time. “Christmas Eve, Christmas,” she lists off all the events that crowd their calendar this time of year, “my parents’ anniversary, my birthday, New Years Eve, New Years Day ….” She looks up at Tobin, “We’re going to go crazy trying to keep on top of everything Year after year.”

Finally Tobin gets it, and she laughs. “You want me to have a talk with the kid? Tell them to stay in there a little longer? Maybe January 3rd?” she grins. “I don’t think there’s anything going on that week?” She’s making fun, and Christen blushes. Maybe she’s nervous too, maybe this is just the form it’s taking in her.

“I just—they deserve their own special holiday,” Chris whispers, leaning into Tobin for strength as the contraction starts. “They deserve their own day,” but if she was going to say more, the words are cut off by a painful moan.

This is the worst one so far, and the intensity of it actually scares Christen. The pain ripples out from deep inside of her body, and she clings to her wife, arms around Tobin’s neck, as the wave moves through her, consumes her. “Hey, hey,” Tobin whispers softly, supporting the other woman through the pain. “Let’s try your meditation breathing, yeah? In …,” her voice was steady now, and calm. Her earlier nerves have been replaced with a sense of purpose. She knows what to do here, “… and out.”

It takes a few minutes, minutes of pain and quiet and breathing. But when it’s over, when the pain has passed, Tobin kisses her forehead. “Honey,” she strokes Christen’s jaw, “no matter when this baby comes, it’ll all work out. And, yeah, we might spend the rest of our lives going crazy all December and recovering all January, but it’s going to be so, so worth it.”

Her wife looks up at her and nods, arms still wrapped around her wife’s neck. “I love you, you know that, right?” she says quietly against Tobin’s soft hoodie.

“‘Course you do,” Tobin grins down at her, so very much in love, “you’re having my baby, aren’t you?” She ducks to avoid the playful tap before kissing her wife’s cheek. “And speaking of, we should probably make our way to the hospital, you think?”

Christen nods, letting go of Tobin’s neck and holding her hands out for help getting up. “You realize that the next time we come home,” she says softly, letting Tobin help her into her warm winter things, “we’re going to have a baby?” There’s an awed tone in her voice, like she can barely even believe it herself.

“You and me and baby makes three,” Tobin whispers from where she’s kneeling at Christen’s feet, lacing up her boots. And the smile on her face is almost divine in its intensity, in the force of pure love there.

And she wants to respond, wants to tell Tobin just how much she loves her, how much she loves this life they’ve created. But another contraction steals away her ability to talk, and when it’s over, it’s clear that her labor is definitely progressing. “Fuck,” Christen groans, looking down at the wet spot spreading over her leggings.

— — —

Tobin looks over the message one last time, smiling as she corrects a word. Finally, one last look, and she decides that it’s perfect. All the most important information is there, everything their friends and family will want to know first.

It’s the picture that causes her the most trouble. Only three hours into motherhood and she’s already pretty sure she’s running out of storage space on her phone. But in the end it doesn’t take her too long to find just the perfect one. Their perfect little girl, cradled in Christen’s arms. The tiniest little green knit cap covering her shock of dark brown hair, cloudy-blue eyes only just barely open. Her rosebud perfect mouth against Christen’s breast.

Tobin adds it to the message, and with a smile and a soft, contented sigh, hits send, sharing the best news in her life with the people she loves the most.

_Welcome to the world, Madeleine Joy Heath. Born 28 December at 11:57 pm, weighing 6 lbs 2 oz, and coming in at just over 19 inches long. Maddie and Chris are doing so well, and we are so in love with this little girl already._

**Author's Note:**

> “New Constellations,” Ryn Weaver


End file.
